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Dante
Twenty Years Ago
“Stefan get down from there before you break your neck!”
“No!” Stefan yelled.
“Dante, come and get your brother. And when you do, bring him to me. I don’t have time for his shenanigans today. I’m gonna be late for work.”
“I’ll get him mom. Go on to work.”
She grabbed her Marlboro’s off the table on the porch, lit one and inhaled. “That chile is going to be the death of me. Thank goodness I have you. I don’t know what I’d do without you Dante. You’re the man of the house. I hate to put that burden on you, but you are.”
“It’s not a burden mom. Be careful on the roads,” I said, always the last thing I said to her.
I loved living on the edge of the Angeles National Forest. Even at just fourteen years old, I understood why mom had moved us here. Our little rustic, two-bedroom cabin wasn’t a lot, but it got us out of gang-infested Los Angeles.
I came home with a shiner one day, and that was it. Two weeks later, mom packed us up and hit the road.
“They’re getting to that age where they have to choose, and there ain’t no choice for folks like us Maria. Not my boys; they ain’t joining no gang. And the only way I know to prevent that is to get up outta here,” I heard her say to our downstairs neighbor one night.
***
TWO WEEKS LATER, WE pulled up to the cabin. There wasn’t a neighbor within five miles.
“You can run and play until your heart’s content. The only danger you have to watch out for are bears, not bullets,” mom laughed.
Stefan kicked a rock. “I hate it here. What are we supposed to do? There’s nothing fun to do.”
“Sure there is,” I said, as mom continued to unload the car. “We can hunt and fish and camp. I bet mom will even let us pitch a tent and sleep outside.”
“I ain’t gonna get eaten by no bear,” Stefan said stubbornly.
“You scared?” I teased.
“I am not!” he roared back.
“Prove it,” I challenged.
“Mom, can we sleep outside in a tent?” he yelled, running inside the cabin.
From that day on, I knew the way to get my baby brother to do anything was to challenge him not to.
Living practically in the woods had taught us to be self-sufficient, which would serve us well as our poor, but happy, existence came to a screeching end all too soon.
The only part I hated about living on the edge of this particular forest was the highway. Even though I wasn’t old enough to drive, I knew how dangerous that two-lane road was. I knew because I'd taken the keys to mom’s car one day and driven it. She didn't mind when I drove around the yard. It was the country and it wasn’t like I could hit anything or anybody. And besides, I'd been driving since I was twelve. Living in gang-infested Los Angeles, you learn a lot of things early. Driving is one of them if you hang out with older kids who had cars and did all kinds of illegal shit.
Lucky me, I did.
Taking her car for that joy ride was the only time my mom ever hit me. I couldn't even be mad at her. I thought I was a good driver, but driving a street in a city neighborhood or in the front yard of our cabin was different than being on an open, winding, twisting road of rugged terrain with other cars whizzing by.
I had been scared. I didn't let myself admit that until I got back home. I'd never been so glad to get from behind the wheel of a car.
Mom took that road to her job as a short-order cook at a diner, sometimes seven days a week. And she drove it home every evening.
I never went to bed until she got home.
***
"YOU DON'T HAVE TO WAIT up for me every night Dante. You have school tomorrow. And who's the parent here anyway?" she said.
"Me," I said, as I sat at the kitchen table gobbling up the latest food she brought home from the diner. "I had to put Stefan on punishment again."
Stefan was always fast asleep by the time mom got home. He was like the Energizer Bunny from the time he got up in the mornings until he went to bed at night. He burned out early.
Not me. I was more of a night owl.
"What did he do this time?" mom asked as she wrapped a portion of the burger she brought home in some aluminum foil and put it in the refrigerator for Stefan for tomorrow.
"Sassed his teacher. She sent a note."
"I'll call her tomorrow. Did he finish—"
"Yes, he did his homework. I told him I'd let him off punishment early if he did extra credit, and wrote 100 times 'I'm sorry' to his teacher and gave it to her tomorrow."
"Did he do it?"
"He wants that fishing rod back you gave him for Christmas."
Mom smiled. "He did it," she said, turning away from me, but not before I could see her eyes tear up.
"You're a good kid Dante. One day, you're going to make some woman a good husband. And your brother is too ... if you don't kill him first," she said, turning to me and smiling.
***
WERE THOSE WORDS MORE prophetic than our mother knew all those years ago?
Angeles Crest Highway highway had claimed her life the next night. ... And I had become my brother’s keeper – for life.